


Underneath the Mistletoe

by escritoireazul



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Christmas Party, Drunken Kissing, First Kiss, M/M, Mistletoe, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is cheesy as fuck,” he tells Byron, because it <em>is</em>. It's also sweet as hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/gifts).



The Pike Post-Christmas Party is in full swing when Jeff arrives. Mr. and Mrs. Pike are out for most of the night, and Vanessa and the triplets are throwing their annual party. It’s been the talk of the high school for years, even Jeff knows that, and most of the time he lives three thousand miles away. He ends up in the kitchen for awhile, drinking and sharing stories with Adam and his latest girlfriend, Becca.

(He’s pretty damn smitten by her, which is adorable, and also going to be the basis for giving him _so much shit_.)

About the time they start cuddling really close, Jeff decides he should make himself scarce, check out the rest of the party, which fills the basement rec room and the first floor, though no one but family is allowed upstairs.

“Jeff!” Byron pounces on him the second he walks into the living room. Well, walks is too strong a word. Stumbles is more like it. Jeff thinks he is more sober than not, except that when he tells his feet to move, they don't. Not the way he wants them to, at least.

“Byron!” Jeff manages to say that much clearly, at least.

Byron starts tugging him across the room. “You have to see this, _dude_.” Even all drunken enthusiasm and big grin, he manages to slip in a bullshit mocking tone on that last word. Fucking East Coasters, man, no sense of chill.

Jeff stumbles along in his wake, not sure it’s worth it to pull away, even though Byron’s hand is sweaty against his. He’s glad for that tight grip when they hit the stairs, and he wobbles a little going up them.

They end up in the upstairs hallway outside the bedrooms. It’s dark up there, and the music from the rec room in the basement is muted, just a dull thump. Still loud enough to vibrate the floor, or maybe that’s the jangle of his nerves.

Byron turns toward him and grins, letting go of Jeff’s fingers and holding out his hands in a weird little “ta da” gesture.

“Wha-at?” Jeff asks, dragging it out. “What am I looking at, By?”

Byron’s grin gets wider still, and he points up. Jeff’s stomach lurches; he’s seen enough rom-coms to know, at least in the back of his head, where this is going, what’s been building between them since Byron turned up on his front porch three days ago, snowball in one hand, shit-eating grin on his face – what’s been building since that day seven years ago when Jeff first moved to Stoneybrook, nine and sullen and homesick and heartbroken, and the triplets became his first local friends.

Sure enough, there’s a bunch of mistletoe sloppily tied together with a shoelace and taped to the ceiling. Jeff has to reach out and brace himself against the wall before he falls over, but he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

“This is cheesy as fuck,” he tells Byron, because it _is_. It's also sweet as hell. Byron’s grin drops, but before he can say anything, Jeff lunges forward – he doesn’t mean to lunge, it’s supposed to be a suave little reach out, fist Byron's shirt, pull him closer – and kisses him. Byron’s mouth opens, but he’s holding so still it’s more like shock than a kiss. Only for a second, though, then he’s kissing back, messily, warm. He’s been drinking too, and there’s beer on their breath, and a little bit of peppermint on his lips, probably from a candy cane. Maybe a mint, since he’s obviously been prepping for this.

Jeff grabs Byron’s shirt, twisting it in both hands, and Byron’s hands hit his waist, tugging at his beltloops. Just that touch makes his dick get hard, because _hands_ , and they’re _right there_ , and, god, he hasn’t had sex in months, hasn’t even jerked off since he’s been in Connecticut, not with his mom and Richard always there in the house. (This Christmas vacation, his last during high school, is a “family holiday” and they’ve been spending way too much time together. He loves them, even Richard and Mary Anne, he _does_ , but all this family togetherness is getting old, fast.)

Thinking about his family kills his erection, but then Byron’s mouth is on his throat, sharp little bites, open-mouthed kisses, and the wet swipe of his tongue. Byron’s crowding him against the wall, not quite shoving him into it, but more forceful than Jeff could ever have imagined. (And, yeah, he’s had a fantasy or two about Byron, about all three triplets, because they’re hot, and he’s crushed on Byron for years, and, hello, _identical triplets_. He’ll never admit it to anyone, though, at first because straight boys don’t make for good crushes, and now because, well, if he was Byron, that might hurt a little.)

Byron’s thigh presses against Jeff, and he’s suddenly, painfully hard again, thrusting forward, maybe even grinding a little. Byron huffs against his throat, and there’s a word in it, but Jeff can’t make it out, and then he bites down, and Jeff has to swallow the noise he makes. This time, there’s definitely grinding.

“Wait,” Byron mumbles, mouth still busy, then he pulls back. His eyes are wide and dark in the dim hallway, his mouth swollen. He swallows hard, then tries again. “Wait, no, I want to – to do this right. Have a first date.”

“So you chose mistletoe?” Jeff asks, incredulous. He’s breathing too fast, and he can feel his pulse pounding, pulsing in his veins, in his dick. He wants to press up against Byron, wrap his hands around both their dicks, jerk until they both come, messy and fast.

Byron dimples. “I thought it was cute.”

“Cheesy,” Jeff repeats, but then he slings an arm around Byron’s neck, tugs him closer again. “But cute. What kind of date?”

“Dinner and a movie?” Byron’s smile is back, brighter than ever. “Or is that too traditional for a California Boy?”

Despite how good he feels, happiness threading through him, lust too, Jeff rolls his eyes. “Depends. Think you can handle vegetarian and an indie art film?”

Byron’s smile wavers only a second, but the face he automatically makes is absolutely _epic_. Jeff can’t stop his laughter.

“Maybe a place with a good salad bar?” he offers. “And the new drag racing movie looks good.”

“You and your love of things that go boom.” Byron shakes his head, but he sounds fond. “There’s a great French film series playing at the old art house theater in Stamford.” Jeff, of course, can’t see his own expression, but Byron’s grin gets bigger. Well hell, he's still being a little shit. Jeff appreciates it. “Or we can go watch hot people in fast cars.”

“Yeah, okay, that sounds good.” Jeff rests his head against Byron’s shoulder, takes a deep breath, tries to will his dick to go soft again before they go downstairs. “You really want to do this the old fashioned way, don’t you? A real date instead of hooking up in the hallway?”

“Not really.” Jeff’s never seen that smile before. “I really want to suck your dick.” Oh, god, all the blood rushes south, and Jeff sways where he stands, dizzy with desire. “But I give it another minute, three at most, before one of my siblings comes upstairs. You really want to try to hook up here, maybe get caught?”

That thought makes Jeff shudder a little, and he has to kiss Byron again, hard, teeth and tongue. They’re both clearly a little shaken by the intensity of it. For a long, tense moment, he wants nothing more than to say screw it, and try to wedge shut one of the bedroom doors so they’ll have long enough to fuck.

Then he breathes deep and takes a step back, putting space between them. “Tomorrow night?” he asks. His voice is a little shaky. He doesn’t care.

Byron nods. “You’re still going to come play basketball at the Y with us, right?”

“Only if you’re skins,” he says, cocking one hip in his direction. He can practically feel the charm oozing off him.

Byron fucking blushes. It’s cute as hell.

Then he shoves Jeff up against the wall, and kisses him again, hands tight on Jeff’s shoulders, and Jeff stops focusing on anything beyond the feel of their bodies pressed so close together.

They'll break apart soon, maybe caught by one of the Pikes, blushing and laughing and shoving each other. They'll play basketball with Byron's brothers, and Jeff won't worry about being too subtle checking him out. They'll have their date, throw popcorn at each other, make out and miss the end of the movie, hand jobs in the car Byron'll wheedle (blackmail) use of out of his siblings for the night. 

Jeff kisses Byron, and doesn't think about anything, not even that he's leaving for California in six days.

They'll figure it out.


End file.
